


A Sea of Sand

by Greedy_Insanity



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, War Boys, anyways think of my fic as bad a mad max, many OCs - Freeform, more characters will be added, violence n stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 19:24:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16939248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greedy_Insanity/pseuds/Greedy_Insanity
Summary: He was lost, in the sea of sand. Silent and alone. Until she found him, and dragged him along with her.





	A Sea of Sand

_“Where must we go, we who wander this wasteland, in search of our better selves.”_

_-The First History of Man_

_Mad Max, Fury Road (2015)_

-

I suppose you want to ask me what happened to my little finger.

See, with five fingers on one hand and only four fingers- one of them being a gripper- on my right, it can seem a little complicated. Nothing strange really happened, however. It had just been a disagreement between me and a rather large scamper. One of those creatures that have four legs and a long- long scale covered tail. And large fangs. His eyes will stick just above the sand as he waits, watching for any little munchie to stumble along to eat.

That’s where I come in, just a young’n at the time, barely at the hip of anyone. All I had on me was a knife, and three casings to the gun I had been given. A cruel prank made by some Gas Town Pups, and one I thought would be deadly.

Those were the good days, when I had someone to go back to. Sure, I was only a Pup, tossed from one faction to the next when I was discovered to be what I was, what I _am_. Most Pups were friendly, however, and would play a round of Kick the Skull if I could get any of the older Boys to let me have one of the smaller scamper skulls.

Now I stood on the ledge of some rocks, examining the horizon with my long lookers. It was just me, the car I had modded, and the voice between us.

What had attracted my attention to the Canyon was the Gigahorse driving away from it, heading on a straight path for the Citadel. It kicked up sand, rushing to go. I looked back at where the Rock Rider’s would’ve been, probably still in the canyon.

That had been a Citadel war machine. Why was it so far from the Citadel? I scratched at the bandana tied around my head, adjusting the goggles above them before putting away the long looker. The sun was warm on my dusted face, guiding me to my decision.

‘ _Immortan Joe wouldn’t have sent himself out unless something was wrong. Something precious must’ve been taken._ ’

“Probably has to do with the smoke coming from the canyon,” I said quietly, voice loud in the empty air. It would’ve been quieter if the world wasn’t so hushed, holding its breath as its inhabitants fought for the quickly depleting water and gas. “A battle maybe. Conflict.”

 _‘That means spare parts._ ’ I nodded in agreement, carefully scaling the rock cliff to get to the vehicle crouched in the sound below. The Camaro body was sun bleached, paint flecking to reveal old metal underneath. It sat upon a Jeep wheelbase, higher up from the ground to keep from snagging any debris hiding in the dunes. Or to crush lower vehicles below its tires, leading to a swift death. ‘ _And maybe dead bodies_.’

“Not that low on food yet,” I murmured, climbing into the cab of my vehicle. The door shut behind me with a snap, and it only took heartbeats to start the car. It coughed, lurching forward and kicking up sand. The machine charged forward, heading for the canyons.

I made it to the canyon in record time, having my car pull to a stop in a groove of rocks to keep it out of right. Scavs would jump at the chance to raid the vehicle for parts. I climbed out of the car, grabbing an empty rucksack on the way out. I tossed it over my shoulder, creeping into the canyon through some nooks.

When I emerged, I had to take a moment to examine all the twisted bodies. There had been a fight, for sure, but what had happened? Who was the enemy?

There were several Gas Town and Bullet Farm vehicles, but both were outnumbered by the Citadel pursuit vehicles. War Boys were scattered all over the ground, from all three factions, pressed underneath stray parts or laying still. Blood soaked everything.

“What happened?” I spoke softly, as though the dead would wake at such a loud noise. But, the dead didn’t answer me. At this, I gently wove my fingers above my head and locked my fingers together, bowing my head to pray. After a murmured to the great V8, I walked among the dead, shuffling through their pockets.

All the Boys I patted down had small skivs, a few had dry bits, and almost all had cans of silvery spray. I pocketed all the skivs and food, but only a few cans of spray. Anything could be useful in the wasteland. Maybe I could color up my ride.

When I was done with most of the Boys, I had enough supplies for many sunrises. All I needed that would make this run perfect was some guzzoline, Mother’s Milk or even just Aqua Cola. Some sort of liquid.

I walked around the side of the wrecked War Rig, kicking at its liquid holder. The metal gave a sad cry, giving me the answer without having the words to say it. Whatever liquid the Rig had hauled was gone, either by Buzzards or leaked into the ungrateful earth below.

Undeterred, I walked towards the cab of the Rig. Maybe the Imperator that drove this chrome machine had kept some Aqua Cola for emergencies. The whole vehicle was bent awkwardly, crushing many of the slower War Boys underneath its body. There was one that caught my attention, caused me to pause for just a moment.  A glimmer against a dark background.

He was oddly placed, inside the cab instead of outside, crushed or tossed aside like litter.

I knew how Immortan Joe liked to keep his War Boys. They were expendable, born with illness that caused them to often die too soon for their age. They were born Half-life, and not to be inside a Rig lest they croaked while driving. Only Imperators, strong Full-Life’s like Joe were given control, with special kill switches to keep the vehicle from moving far.

Yet, here this Boy was, a strange occurrence. He was hanging from the cab, face down in the sand and being held down by a door that had fallen off. His feet stuck out the other side, dusty but not facing weird directions. It was doubtful that they were broken from the crushing door.

I grabbed at the door, easily able to push it off the dead Boy and drag him to a less cramped place, flattening out his skinny limbs and joints. He had several bruises and cuts- a strange burn across his cheek- but was relatively unharmed.

I patted him down, grabbing the dry bits and skiv he carried. He didn’t have a can of silver, unlike the other Boys. It gave her a bad feeling, causing her stomach to turn and toes to curl.

“That’s not normal,” I said, tilting my head as though the change in angle would help. All it did was cause a small click in one ear, caused by some loose object someone had jammed in long ago. She couldn’t figure him out. He was a tree in the desert, stubborn but possible.

‘ _No silver, and he has the gall to be in an Imperator’s seat. No way would Joe let a Half-life drive his Rig_.’ I nodded along, still staring at the Boy. There had to be an answer to him, but he was dead. And the dead couldn’t talk. ‘ _Look at that V8 on his chest. It looks…_ ’

“Chrome,” I finished, nudging at the Boy with my boot toe. I rolled him over, only glancing over the Joe mark on the back of his neck before he was laying on his back, pale body dusty from being in the sand. The brand was different than hers, giving her an odd feeling. A feeling of being left behind, for better or worse. “He will be welcomed in Valhalla, I’m sure.”

I linked my fingers over him, giving a small prayer of sendoff. They said that sometimes Valhalla would not let someone in if they were not prayed for, if they were dead. And they would be cursed to wander the Empty forever, a ghost unable to do anything but watch friends die.

Once I was done, I jabbed at him once more with my boot. I knew he wasn’t going to speak, but I still hoped to nudge some sort of answer out of him. Something would be useful. However, his chest rattled, and he struggled to get air to his lungs. “He’s still alive.”

 ‘ _Surprising. Maybe Valhalla spat him back out because of you._ ”

“I did nothing.”

‘ _He looks like he’s barely in his prime Half-Life. A Pup, really._ ’

“Gas Town could use him.” I crouched down above him, leaning on the toes of my boots to allow my  face closer to his. His stinky breath washed over me, uneven but stubborn. He definitely wasn’t dead.

“Is this Valhalla?” The Boy coughed, opening his eyes to reveal a surprising shade of sky. It wasn’t one she had seen the sky turn before, but that was the only color she could think of describing his eyes aside from the Old World pictures she had seen.

She smiled, showing her teeth. But, she probably looked more threatening than comforting, based on how his eyes widened, and he struggled to sit up. She held his shoulder with one hand, keeping him down easily. He was barely back on the Earth, barely able to do anything. “Get off me! I have to get to-“

The Boy coughed, wheezing as he rolled onto his side. He was gasping for breaths, clawing at his neck as his own sickness fought to finish him. That was the funny thing about sickness. It always struck when one was down.

She waited out his fit, letting his settle for rasping breaths before offering him a sip from her flask. It was barely half full. He didn’t think before accepting, and she tipped it into his mouth slowly. He swallowed it greedily. “What happened here? All your brothers are dead.”

He stared at her, finished with her flask. His eyes were blank, face far away. He seemed to be reliving the events that had transpired, but she thought she was going to have to slap at his ears. He looked around at the wreckage, eyes wide. She helped him sit up, allowing him a wider view of the glorious death he had been so close to.

“Immortan Joe is dead. These lands are no longer his,” The Boy said, staggering as he struggled to his feet. He was using her as a crutch, grubby hands on her shoulders. She looped an arm around his waist, knowing that she wasn’t going to shove him off until they got to the car. He had valuable information.

“Great V8,” I murmured, looking around at the rubble as though looking for the body of the god himself. The Boy had wide, innocent eyes, with his pale skin barely covered with the clay that they War Boys would often cover themselves with. He was going to burn in the sun. “What did a miss?”

I had a drag the War Boy back to my car, since after our conversation his legs wouldn’t cooperate, and he couldn’t hold his own weight. At one point, I think his head was lolling as I heaved him over some rocks, so I assumed he passed out.

‘ _We need to know why the War Rig was out and about. It’s dangerous to have such a valuable vehicle left behind, even if she’s dead._ ’

“Either way it’s too dangerous to stick around. Too many Buzzards.” That put an end to the conversation quickly, and I set off for my car, half-dead War Boy in tow.

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda have this outlined, kind of not. So if you have any suggestions for a plot point of even just a filler-type thing shoot it at me.


End file.
